The appointed afternoon approached, finding the vicar pacing back and forth in the front hall, his eyes constantly on a wall clock. One o'clock. That was the set time. It was quarter to one now; only fifteen minutes until the Buckets would come. They'd be exactly on time—Hyacinth would make sure of that.
Striding into the hall, Alice looked on with light-hearted disapproval at her husband. "Stop getting so worked up! She's not that bad, you know."
Michael stared at her in disbelief. "You're not serious?"
Alice shrugged. "I don't fancy her, myself, but I—ahem—won't go out of my way to avoid her. She is part of your congregation, you know."
A droll smile replaced the vicar's set frown, and he looked at Alice in mock surrender. "You're right," he said reluctantly. "I could improve a bit."
"I think you're doing quite well, overall," Alice reassured her husband. "Everybody is very fond of you—especially me." She put her arms around his shoulders and kissed him lovingly.
"Thank you, Ally," Michael said, pleased at her words and her affectionate gesture.
Just at that moment, the doorbell rang, causing both to startle.
"I wonder who that could be," Michael said dryly. "Well, onward I go."
Striding over to the front door, the vicar flung it open with excessive force; it banged loudly against the wall, and Hyacinth 'Bouquet', standing on the front step in a crisp floral (what else?) dress looked at the former with scrutiny.
"You seem a little tense, Vicar," she said. "Is the stress of the ordained life getting to you?"
"Oh…no," Michael said. "That door sometimes sticks," he quickly fibbed. Alice turned away to hide a grin.
"Well, come in, Mr. and Mrs. Buck—Bouquet," he said as cheerfully as he could. He escorted the Buckets into the living room, which Alice had made very comfortable and pleasantly decorated. At least, most people would agree with that. Hyacinth, however, turned toward Alice with a cursory smile and said, unconvincing 'sincerity', "How nice and…cozy your living room is."
"I think it's very nice," Richard said warmly, settling onto the sofa with Hyacinth.
"Thank you, Mr. 'Bouquet'," Alice said gratefully.
The vicar sat in an easy chair, facing the Buckets, with Alice sitting on the arm of the chair. Michael slipped an arm around his wife's waist as he asked patiently, "And why are you calling today, Mrs. 'Bouquet'?"
"I was wondering," Hyacinth said cheerfully, "if you and your lovely wife would like to join Richard and me on a visit to a religious art exhibit in London. I'm sure you could provide some wise insight. All expenses paid, of course."
The vicar was alarmed. London was two hours away—one way. Four hours in a car with the Bucket woman! He could imagine Hyacinth dominating the conversation for that length of time. Michael was in a dilemma—he had only promised to stop avoiding Mrs. 'Bouquet', but he also thought he might go a step further…maybe…Also, he thought wickedly, Alice was invited, too.
"We'd love to, Mrs. 'Bouquet'," the vicar said at last.
For a moment, Alice gave her husband an approving smile; then the full reality of the situation dawned on her. She would be going, too! It would be rude not to accept the invitation as well, even if it meant spending a great amount of the day with the Bucket woman.
Hyacinth smiled, looking very pleased. "Thank you, Vicar. I'm sure we'll all have a pleasant day. How does next Wednesday sound? We'll come by at nine o'clock."
"Certainly," Michael said weakly. Hyacinth smiled broadly, Richard said a few words of approval, and the Buckets took their leave, much to the relief of the rather stunned Evanses. What had they just gotten themselves into? Even Alice, with her mild tolerance of Mrs. 'Bouquet', felt that, had she been Catholic, this could count as penance.
Michael couldn't help prodding Alice. "We're both in this together," he said later that afternoon. "Maybe you can sit in the back seat with the Bucket woman—I ought to suggest it to her."
"Michael Evans, you wouldn't!" Alice exclaimed.
"Wouldn't I?" Michael said mysteriously, but he was smiling.
…
Two a.m. on Wednesday.
The vicar was lying in bed. Alice was sleeping soundly beside him, but he was wide awake and staring at the ceiling. In seven hours, the Buckets' showroom-clean car would roll into the driveway, a broadly beaming Hyacinth waiting for the Evanses to come out so that they could all begin their 'delightful little outing'. The more he thought about it, the more he dreaded it, and could not get back to sleep.
"Four hours to and from London, depending on the traffic," Michael started to say, unaware that he was speaking out loud. "She'll want an hour looking at the art—and doubtlessly she and Richard will want to stop for luncheon. I estimate our 'delightful little outing' will take six hours! Six hour with the Bucket woman! I should like very much to cancel. But," he reflected, "if I do, Alice will be unbearable. She'll lord it over me if I don't see this through."
"I will, but do you really need a monologue at this hour?" said a drowsy voice. Michael heard Alice stir under the sheets.
"Sorry, dear," he said. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"Well, I'm awake now," Alice said irritably. "Don't get so vexed about today! It'll teach you perseverance. Besides, I'm in on it, too."
"I know," Michael said wryly. "I know you wouldn't back out, so I guess I won't either. Well, I can't sleep now—I have got myself all worked up."
"Go have some tea or something," Alice said lazily, settling into bed again and falling asleep.
Michael did not sleep—much—but he wasn't too unfocused when the sun came up. Besides, he had three cups of strong coffee, and by the time the doorbell rang, he had steeled himself and accepted his fate.
"Come along, Vicar!" Hyacinth said grandly as the Evanses exited their home. She stood in contrast to the slightly overcast day, dressed brightly—very brightly.
Alice noticed that Hyacinth was eying her ensemble. In contrast to Hyacinth's boldly colored outfit, Alice's was more subtle—and much more attractive. A cream-colored, light sweater complimented Alice's dark hair, and a knee-length satin skirt was the same soft shade of gray as her eyes.
Hyacinth, as she did with Liz, was a little too vocal with her opinion about Alice's choice of dress. Perhaps she didn't mean any harm, Alice admitted to herself, but it was still annoying when Hyacinth said, "Shall I give you a moment to change into something more elegant for our outing? Just some friendly advice, dear."
"No, I'm quite all right, Mrs. 'Bouquet'," Alice said quietly but firmly.
"Very well," Hyacinth said. "Now, why don't you sit in the front seat, next to Richard, and the Vicar and I shall have some enlightening conversation in the back seat."
Michael exchanged one strained glance with Alice, who said quickly, "As much as I'd love to sit with Richard, I'm sure he could very much use your help in navigating. It's quite a ways to London, of course."
The vicar was hard-pressed not to cheer at his wife's clever and subtle way of avoiding the problem of either of them having to sit with the Bucket woman. True, both of them looked guiltily toward Richard (who was in the front seat studying a map while all of this was going on) but neither of them could quite go so far as to sit with Hyacinth, even for Richard's sake.
Hyacinth, looking very flattered, said cheerfully, "Very kind of you, Alice, to realize how much Richard would appreciate my help. You don't mind, do you, Vicar?"
"Not at all," Michael said, inwardly rejoicing.
Five minutes later, Richard was steering out of the Evanses' driveway, with Hyacinth 'at the helm' beside him. Michael and Alice mutually decided to make the best of the situation, and managed to bear Hyacinth's chatter, broken occasionally by her advice to Richard ("mind the pedestrian"… "Mind the cyclist" … "Mind the squirrel").
…
"Mind the roundabout," Hyacinth said, a little over two hours later. They were heading into London, and it would only be a short bit of time, at least in 'city time', before they arrived at the fine arts museum.
"Minding the roundabout," Richard said tiredly.
Michael and Alice wondered at Richard's patience as he made his way into the heavier London traffic. It took some time, after all, to find the Royal Museum of Fine Art, but at last Richard was pulling into the car park. With a sigh of relief, he found a spot and stopped the car.
"Why did you sigh, dear?" Hyacinth asked.
"Oh, it's that…pesky London traffic," Richard said hurriedly. Michael and Alice looked significantly at each other. Something pesky had indeed frustrated Richard, but it certainly hadn't been the traffic.
"Never mind, Richard," Hyacinth said. "Just relax, and we'll have a good day at the museum."
Hyacinth led the way to the museum entrance, the other three following dutifully behind. After the tickets were paid, they found the exhibit of religious art and began browsing. Hyacinth peppered the vicar with questions about whether each work of art was 'orthodox in its subject'. To his credit, he answered every question patiently enough.
"Ah, a painting of St. Michael," Hyacinth said grandly, winking at the vicar. "Aren't you glad you share a name with an archangel?"
"Yeah, sure," Michael said indifferently.
The next hour indeed tried the vicar's patience as Hyacinth stopped at every work of art, and asked his opinion constantly. Not only did Hyacinth's endless questions test his nerves, but he was running out of responses. Alice and Richard commented on occasion, but were much more casual in their appreciation of art.
"Do you think that painting is too Catholic to be generally appreciated?" Hyacinth asked about midway through their trip through the exhibit.
Michael narrowly avoided rolling his eyes. Hyacinth asked the oddest questions sometimes. He looked at the painting in question, a very lovely portrait of Mary and the infant Jesus; Mary held a rosary in one hand.
"No," he said sincerely. "It's a nice, reverent piece of art—I'm sure people of all denominations can find it inspiring."
Hyacinth nodded before moving on to a statue of St. Peter. The respected disciple was smiling and holding up a Bible, as if preaching to the crowd. Hyacinth studied it for a moment, and then turned yet again to Michael.
"Vicar, don't you think that St. Peter really smiled like that? His mission was much too serious for him to look so frivolous."
Alice interrupted before her husband—who, visibly to all but the Bucket woman, wore a very fixed smile and had a slight tic in his forehead—could speak.
"Don't you think those who spread the Word should smile? The Word of God is a joyous thing, isn't it?" Alice said sensibly.
"You do have a point, dear," Hyacinth said, as if her compliment was a great favor to the vicar's wife.
"Very good, Ally," Michael said in a low voice. He smiled. "Perhaps you ought to take over my job."
Half an hour later, to his great relief, the Buckets and the Evanses were sitting in a pleasant café, ordering their meals. Richard managed to start a conversation and keep Hyacinth from taking over it, so it was surprisingly pleasant hour of talking and eating. Michael and Alice discussed many things with Richard, none of which were centered on religion in any way, much to the vicar's relief.
The ride back to Binley Woods might have been a pleasant once as well, but as they left the outskirts of London and Richard concentrated on driving, Hyacinth turned around in her seat and inquired of the vicar, "Do you think the Church has as strong a presence as it did fifty years ago, Vicar?"
"No," Michael said tiredly. "Not quite as much." He tried to start a conversation with Alice, hoping that Hyacinth would get the hint and leave him alone, but she continued on without pause.
"What a pity," Hyacinth said. "And to what do you attribute the change?"
Suddenly the vicar had had enough. The ordained life might be his chosen profession, but it wasn't his entire life, any more than politicians were always talking and thinking of the affairs of the government. He paused, took a deep breath and then said quite bluntly…
"Mrs. 'Bouquet', I am a little weary of speaking of religious subjects. Perhaps we could move on from those topics now."
Hyacinth looked stunned. Alice silently applauded and Richard looked back in approval before returning his attention to the road. Inwardly, Michael was feeling quite triumphant, though part of him wondered if he was quite awake. Had he really stood up so unflinchingly to the Bucket woman?